Memories
by CrossingtheRiver
Summary: Takes place when Jordan is a teen. She runs away from a strained relationship with her father, returning to a broken life. So she leaves to England for college, and meets a certain goth. JordanNigel. AU.


_This is my first fan fiction. I do not own any of the characters. This takes place when Jordan is a __**teenager,** and is an **AU.**__ She is deeply troubled, returning to Boston after running away from a broken father, a relationship scarred. She is trapped in this cage for years until college, when she meets a certain Gothic Englishman on a trip to England. _

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**Prologue**

Jordan walked into the red room, placing her bag on the linen bed. She looked around, shrugging off her leather jacket. It had been too long, since she had been here. She supposed her father had worried; she knew he would. But she had had no other choice. She had to run away. Being a cop's daughter just made that easier. She knew what to do; how to mask her trail. She had changed her appearance, dyed her hair, taken a small amount of money out of her account as to not arise suspicion. She would get a job. And she had changed her name, been granted a new passport, a new life. The last thing Jordan Cavanaugh did was pick up the framed picture of herself, her father and her mother, placing it on the top of the suitcase.

But now she was back. It hadn't changed at all. Same red walls, same purple linen bedspread. But the room was stripped of her personality, her soul. The pictures she usually had of her father, mother and friends were gone. Her posters of various musicians, gone. But one thing startled her above anything else – something was missing. And this one missing object managed to tear right through her soul. Her guitar was gone.

Ever since she was a teenager and first learned how to play it, the guitar was her most prized possession. She would play for hours, sometimes allowing the soft alto voice to accompany it. It was all she had to remind herself of her mother, who had died a week after her tenth birthday. Her father had been a mystery to her, after then. Someone who was around to make breakfast, dinner and that was just about it. There was no relationship there; just bare human contact with the person who had partially created her. That was it.

So she focused on her guitar. Now it was gone, it felt like a massive, gut-wrenching part of her was missing. Like she was nothing more than empty lyrics with nothing accompanying her. She felt bare.

Of course, Jordan knew it wouldn't be the same. She had done some terrible things while away, things that had changed her, as well as her view on the world. But she needed there to be some sense of normality; otherwise she knew it would be pointless to have come home. Pointless. The word that seemed to some up her whole life. It was ironic. The whole reason she had returned was to add some meaning to her life; to make up with the father she left behind, and learn to live again. But all she felt was pointlessness.

_Well, at least dad isn't home_, she said to herself. It would be a hell of a lot harder to return if Max was there….she would have to explain everything right away, before she had time to adjust to being home. Then, she would have his half-pitying, half-angered look directed at her. It would be one of the hardest things to face. But she knew soon she would have to, for Max would be home soon, and she would have to answer her conscience.

Max walked through the door exhausted. He had just worked a double shift and was still working his ass off to find his little girl. It seemed weird to call her that now; someone old enough to mask their trace and create a new identity was surely older than a little girl. But she wasn't, at least wasn't meant to be. She was supposed to be sweet sixteen, going out with friends and crushing over a different boy each week. Instead, all his Jordan wanted to do was sing and play her guitar, and sit in her room all day. He supposed it was some sort of belated depression or realization over her mother's death. But he couldn't understand that decision, that one decision that took her away from him. And he had a feeling that in one way or another, his little girl would never come back to him.

His revelations were interrupted by something, or someone, descending the stairs. Her face had changed; that was the first thing he noticed. The sheer beauty of the moonlight placing tender tresses on her face startled him a little at first, but he regained his composure to simply see his daughter. It was as if not seeing her for so long had reduced her. She was now simply a human connection; the shared blood the only connection. She had broken their relationship. And now, after the fragility of the situation muted, the only question in Max's mind was _why?_

And he would get his answer. Just not tonight, not the night when for the first time in months, his daughter was smiling at him, with the same smile that was accustomed to his face. With that, he took her in his arms, letting out a cry likened to a tiger's, roaring with ferocious protection and density.

'Uhh….Hi, dad!' That was all she could stutter. Her mind was only too accustomed to this emotional overload, and her monosyllabic tendencies overran situations like this.

'Jordan, oh, my Jordan'. He pronounced her name in the thick Southern Boston accent that had always graced his voice, but this time added with something extra. The tone was much heavier, and spoke much more of the emotion felt. His little girl was safe at home, so it…no, he would be all right again. Wouldn't he?


End file.
